


Cooking for Your Loved Ones

by missmichellebelle



Series: Alternate Meetings [2]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Meeting, Cooking, Fluff, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-15
Updated: 2012-11-15
Packaged: 2017-12-10 21:20:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/790284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missmichellebelle/pseuds/missmichellebelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How did his mom sign him up for a couple’s cooking class?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cooking for Your Loved Ones

**Author's Note:**

> **studiousjones asked:** Klaine are the only two single people in a cooking class full of couples.

Blaine has absolutely no idea what he’s doing here.

Well, that’s not completely true; he’s here because he wants some extracurriculars that aren’t fencing, or soccer, or polo, or the Warblers… And possibly because he’d nearly scorched the ceiling of their kitchen a few weeks ago while trying to make a grilled cheese. The idea of a cooking class had been his, but the actual class had been his mom’s find. “One of the girls at the office took it,” she’d told him, “and swears it’s the best in the area.”

References, especially ones given personally, are always concrete enough for Grace Anderson, and the next thing Blaine knows, he’s signed up for a cooking class in Columbus.

So Blaine does know why he’s here. He just suddenly wishes he wasn’t.

Every single table (are they tables? they remind Blaine of kitchen counters, and they all have stoves and sinks and  _ovens_ ) has two people standing behind it, and, while Blaine tries not to be presumptuous, he can’t help but assume that they’re all couples. It might be the fact that every single pair is made up of a man and woman of roughly the same age, and one half of nearly every pair looks bored to death.

On top of the apparent coupledom, Blaine might be the youngest person there; there’s one teen couple (and the guy look like he’s being subjected to some sort of  _torture_ ) and then there’s…  _Oh_.

There’s only one person who stands alone, tying an apron at the small of his back, and he must not be much older than Blaine—at least, he looks very young from the brief glimpses of his face that Blaine can catch. And, seeing as he’s the only one who isn’t already partnered up… He must be the unlucky other person who didn’t get the memo about the cooking class.

How did his mom sign him up for a  _couple’s_  cooking class?

Again, he debates just turning around and leaving, but he’s been looking forward to this whole thing. Plus, a part of him feels bad for leaving his nameless partner all by himself. At least there’s an opportunity to make a joke out of it all?

He walks over, fiddling with the coat draped over his arm, and puts on his best, friendliest smile. Blaine is good with people—amazing with people, if he does say so himself—and if this guy unknowingly signed up for this class, then at least Blaine knows he’s there by choice, right?

When he stops walking, he’s standing not two feet away from his new cooking companion, but he hasn’t even opened his mouth when the other boy starts talking.

“I’m sure the instructor will reimburse you for your money,” he says, turning to look at Blaine and—and Blaine suddenly forgets everything he’d been thinking of saying. “You obviously weren’t expecting to be paired with, well…” He waves at himself, dismissively, and keeps going, “and I didn’t intend to sign up for a couple’s cooking class—then again, it was a well intentioned Christmas gift from my dad, and he most likely missed some sort of… Fine print or something.” He works at pushing his sleeves up above his elbows, folding them neatly and with precision so that the subtly patterned material still falls attractively. “But I have been looking forward to this for weeks and have no intention of leaving, so if you would just keep any comments to yourself—”

Blaine realizes that he’s going to have to speak, or else this boy—beautiful, every part of him that Blaine can see or hear is shocking and breathtaking—will continue to think horrible, misconstrued things about Blaine.

“The same thing happened to me, actually,” Blaine rushes to say, and the boy halts in his speech (rant? argument? defense?). “My mom signed me up for this, and I guess she didn’t know it was a couple’s thing either, so…” Blaine gestures at himself, standing there, and smiles in a friendly way. “If it doesn’t bother you, I’d like to stay?” It comes out as a question, and the boy stares at him with wide, blinking, very blue eyes.

“You don’t mind being partnered with me?”

The wonderment with which the boy asks shouldn’t tug at Blaine the way it does.

“Why would I mind?” In what universe would Blaine  _ever_  mind?

The boy just stares at him a moment longer, and then turns, giving a noncommittal shrug that Blaine interprets as a “do as you like.”

Blaine grabs his own apron, already feeling awkward as he ties it behind himself, his eyes constantly flicking over to his cooking partner and how he resolutely does  _not_ look back at Blaine.

The apron is yellow, of all colors, but it isn’t completely garish and could be a lot worse.

“It’s a good thing I look good in yellow,” Blaine comments, offhandedly, hoping that—by some luck—he can break through this strange tension between him and his partner.

“Hardly anyone can pull off yellow,” his partner says, turning to look at him again. Blaine can feel the blush start at the back of his neck as blue eyes trail over him, taking on an impressed gleam. “But you aren’t wrong.”

It feels like a victory.

“Thank you. You don’t look bad in it, yourself.” Wait.  _Oh my god_. Blaine wants to smack his face into the sink faucet—he did not mean for that to come out that way. Because, okay,  _yes_ , this guy is attractive: lean, fair, styled brown hair, and Blaine tries so hard not to stereotype,  _really_  he does, but his gaydar is  _screaming_  at him.

But he doesn’t say anything back, just glances away again, and Blaine really does want to apologize profusely or… Or  _something_.

Instead, he takes a deep breath, squares his shoulders, and smiles.

Blaine is very, very good at adopting his game face.

“My name’s Blaine.” He holds out his hand and waits, wondering if he’ll be left there with his hand in the air until the instructor makes an appearance.

But he isn’t—a hand slips into his, the grip firm, but friendly.

“Kurt.”

 _Kurt is a wonderful name_.

And if Blaine swears he felt some sort of zing between their hands, he blames it on the fabric content of the jacket he’d been wearing and static electricity.

There isn’t much time for talking, not then, as the instructor comes in—a very happy looking older woman, in a yellow apron of her own, who welcomes the class to “Cooking for Your Loved Ones.” Blaine can at least understand the confusion; the word _couple_  isn’t even in the  _name_.

Names aside, it’s easier for him to talk to Kurt—to find out he lives in Lima, that he  _can_ cook but wants to learn how to cook  _more_ , and that he’s the only openly gay kid at his high school.

Blaine doesn’t know how they go from abilities to cook (“I nearly burnt down my kitchen trying to make a grilled cheese.” “Wow, you really  _do_  need to take this class.”) to how hard their lives are in high school (and Blaine may never forget the look on Kurt’s face when he found out that Blaine is gay, as well). Blaine can’t remember the last time he had such a deep conversation, and he certainly didn’t expect to have it while learning to make quiche.

Apparently, quiche is something that Kurt knows how to make, because they finish before most of the rest of the couples. They switch from darker topics as soon as the words, “I’m not a fan of quiche” are out of Blaine’s mouth, because then Kurt is insistent on getting him to try it, because, “Blaine Anderson, you have never had one of  _my_  quiches.”

It’s good, for a quiche, and Kurt smiles so much that eating a bite of it was definitely worth the sacrifice.

The class is two hours long, but, by the end of it, Blaine feels as if him and Kurt have known each other for years. He’s still not sure how, “whisk these eggs, please,” turned into, “no  _way_ , that’s my favorite song from Book of Mormon!” but Blaine is certainly glad that it happened.

“Pie next week!” The instructor calls.

“Hopefully this class provides some sort of challenge, eventually,” Kurt mutters with rolled eyes, as they both untie their aprons and prepare to leave.

“Hey, let the newbies warm up to this whole cooking thing. I’m happy that what we made is edible.”

“With me as your partner, everything we make will be edible,” Kurt insists, and Blaine can’t help but laugh.

“You will just have to teach me your ways.” Blaine dips himself into a bow as they walk (and apparently they’re walking out together now) and Kurt looks like he contemplates it for a moment.

“Well, since you asked.”

Blaine laughs again.

They stop in the parking lot, other people milling over to their cars, and Blaine suddenly wishes it was next Saturday already.

“So… Next week?” Kurt asks, his voice high with hope and expectation, and just the slightest hint of nerves, and Blaine wonders why Kurt would ever think Blaine wouldn’t come back?

“Absolutely.” He flashes a grin, and Kurt smiles hesitantly back, like he’s still unused to Blaine smiling at him (Blaine sort of likes it, but he also thinks that Kurt should get used to Blaine smiling at him).

“Well…” Kurt steps back, raising his hand in a small wave.

“Wait!” Blaine digs in his pocket, pulling out his phone and then holding it out to Kurt. Kurt stares at it, then at Blaine, and then he smiles.

Blaine smiles back.

When he gets home, Kurt’s number is locked into his address book, and he immediately opens his laptop and begins to research what kind of pie he wants to make. His phone is out and he’s already texting Kurt options before he even realizes he’s doing it.

 **To Kurt (3:01PM):**  
     What do you think about pumpkin?

 **To Blaine (3:03PM):**  
     I think it’s a little soon for nicknames.


End file.
